


Girl Meets Girl

by queenbaskerville



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Sally and Molly are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally Donovan meets Molly Hooper in a morgue. One would think that the dead bodies and the strange smells of the place would be kind of off-putting, but Sally feels an attraction to Molly that just won't go away. And thank god for Valentine's Day. Hoopervan one-shot, a birthday present for Petrichor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Meets Girl

**Author's Note:**

> they end up dating for at least a year.
> 
> also: "...and the next time Sherlock took her for granted or did something awful she could give him a strong talking to and perhaps slap him around a bit." I wrote this way before S3 came out and had no idea this would actually happen. Kudos to me for precognition I guess

Sargeant Sally Donovan wasn't sure how she ended up in the morgue. It seemed that one minute she was at work with Detective Inspector Lestrade and the next minute she was entering through double doors into the realm of science and dead things.

"Molly!" Lestrade called with his hands in his pockets. "Molly Hooper!" His voice echoed eerily in the room. There was a body on a table covered in a sheet. Sally was consumed for a moment with a morbid curiosity to lift the sheet and see what was under it. She crushed the feeling immediately.

No one emerged, not the mysterious "Molly," not anyone.

"Sorry about all this," Lestrade said, looking at Sally with those irritatingly endearing puppy-dog eyes of his. "I don't know where she's at. She should be here. I just need a few files for the Lancaster case."

"It's fine," Sally said. She'd put up with worse. The smell in here was bad, but it was nothing compared to the sight of poor Greg nearly having an angry meltdown in his office because of something stupid one of his men had done. And besides, this trip gave her an excuse to be away from Philip Anderson, who she'd had a one night stand with a while back. She regretted it immensely. She'd mistaken her friendly affections for the man with some sort of love and paid for it dearly when Sherlock humiliated her during that case with the pills and the woman in the pink dress. Maybe someday she and Philip would reconcile and be friends again, but at the moment they were awkwardly snappish and pissy and more awkward and she hated it.

"Miss Hooper?!" Lestrade yelled again, and Sally expected no answer.

She was surprised by the small, pleasant voice that called back, "Sorry, sorry, I'm coming!" and was even more surprised by the sweet woman attached to it.

The woman, Molly Hooper, wore tan-ish trousers, a cute white sweater-thing covered in a pattern of flowers and birds in the colors of pink, purple, and the like. She had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail with a side-part, and she had a slightly upturned nose, rosy cheeks, white skin, innocent-looking doe eyes, and cute little lips that Sally was sure would be even cuter if she used them to smile. At the moment she just looked hassled and nervous.

"Sorry. I was a bit busy with a new arrival. What can I do for you?" She asked hurriedly, timid and apologetic.

"We need the file on the Lancaster case, do you remember that one...?" Lestrade began, and Sally focused on the case and forced herself to forget about how pretty Molly's hair shined when the sunlight came through a window and glinted off it.

It was only when she and Lestrade were in a taxi returning to NSY did Sally allow herself to picture the little woman in the morgue.

When Lestrade asked what she was so pleased about, she responded with a shrug, not telling him anything yet still unable to reign in the upturn of her lips at the thought of Miss Molly Hooper.

* * *

Molly watched the dark woman and the DI Sherlock sometimes brought with him- Greg Lestrade, she thought his name was- walk out of the morgue. She was so tired. She'd stayed up too late working after she'd been cowed into taking a night shift to cover for a guy who was going out for a stag party.

A yawn convinced her to try and avoid such late work in the future.

She wrapped up her remaining tasks in the morgue as quickly as she could (aka not quickly at all due to awful paperwork) before changing from her lab coat to her evening coat and leaving the building. She didn't want to be late home, her cat would yowl furiously if his dinner was served late, and the neighbours certainly wouldn't appreciate that.

She tied a scarf her grandmother knitted her a long time ago around her neck and started looking for a cab. Unable to flag one down, Molly resorted to just walking a while until she could flag one down in a less busy part of the city.

She finally flagged down a cab- but, oh, another woman had flagged it, too. They both stood a moment before Molly spoke up.

"I'm sorry, you go ahead, I'll catch the next one."

The woman shook her head. "Where're you headed? Maybe I'm on the way there, or you're on the way to my destination."

Molly told her.

"Yeah, I'm on the way to that. Wanna ride with me?" The woman asked briskly. The cab driver seemed to be getting irritated at how long they were taking to decide, but the woman was holding the door open, so he couldn't drive away.

"Sure," Molly said, since women weren't usually rapists and the cab driver was there so nothing bad would happen, probably. Besides, the woman seemed familiar.

"After you," the woman said, making a gesture to the seats. Molly slid in. The woman followed, slamming the door shut.

"Where to, ma'am?" Asked the cabbie, and the woman told him. Her voice was penetrating and husky and Molly found herself subconsciously wanting to hear more of it. Molly turned the subconscious desire into a conscious action and tried to start a conversation.

"You look familiar, have I met you somewhere before?" Molly asked in her quiet, timid voice, studying the smooth skin and the full lips and the long fingers and the curly black hair. The woman's eyes were beautiful dark pools that seemed deeper and deeper the more you stared into them (but staring was rude so Molly didn't do much of that). Molly was a bit tempted to reach out and touch the woman's curly hair but refrained because not only would that be creepy, Molly was just shy in general and didn't want to ask to feel someone's hair.

"I saw you in the morgue today, but we weren't introduced," the woman explained, and Molly suddenly remembered G. Lestrade coming in with a woman and collecting files.

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed. "I remember now."

"I'm Sally Donovan," the woman, Sally, introduced herself, holding out her hand.

"Molly Hooper," Molly said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

If you asked her later what they talked about, Molly wouldn't be able to tell you. She forgot most of what was said that day. What she remembered was the way Sally sounded when she laughed and how her eyes brightened and the world seemed better when Sally smiled, all white teeth and laugh lines and happiness.

 

* * *

 

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade wasn't sure what prompted a change, but suddenly his favorite sergeant came up with a lot more excuses to go with him to the morgue, or to go by herself to the morgue.

He supposed it must have been the Molly Hooper girl. Whenever Sally came with him, he'd end up waiting with the corpses while Sally and Molly chatted in hushed voices and went to fetch files. Or, if they were actually looking at a body, Sally and Molly would stare at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, or even worse, they'd smile sappily at each other when they thought  _Lestrade_  wasn't looking.

He was certain they thought they were being clever, but Lestrade noticed. He chose not to comment because it wasn't doing any harm and wasn't against any regulations he'd ever heard of. Besides, if he even _tried_ to complain about how the two of them were always focused on each _other_ and not the cadavers, he was sure Sally would fire back with examples of every time she'd tolerantly dealt with his shit.

And, you know, it was kind of nice to see happy romance for once, since his wife was cheating on him and Sherlock and John still didn't have the guts to confess their love to each other.

 

* * *

 

Molly watched contentedly as Sally Donovan stirred her coffee with a plastic spoon in her left hand and used her right hand to "stealthily" nab a cookie from Molly's plate.

Sally had on jeans, black boots, and a ruffled white blouse. Her long, dark coat lay across her lap since it's not like you can easily lay something over the back of a booth without irritating other customers. Her normally angry or frustrated expression was not on her face, having been earlier replaced with happiness and amusement. The coffee shop was great for cheering people up after a particularly hard day at work. Sally had pulled her hair back into a frizzy ponytail, but some curly strands still escaped, and she had to brush some hair out of her eyes every once and a while so she could see Molly.

So she could see  _Molly_.

Molly would never stop being astonished at the fact that out of all the men and women in the world, Sally Donovan chose Molly Hooper to go on dates with and kiss and talk to and all other things girlfriends are entitled to.

"I would've brought you flowers," Sally blurted.

"Oh you didn't need to do that," Molly contradicted kindly.

"But I would have. And I should."

Molly leaned over the table and managed to kiss Sally right on the lips. It wasn't a long kiss, more like a fond reminder of something. "Then bring flowers next time."

"What kind of flowers?"

"What kind of chocolates do you like?"

"Oh, that's not fair, you can't turn the rides on me like that and suddenly start offering gifts in return!"

Sally chuckled lightly and Molly relished the husky, beautiful sound of Sally laughing. She took a mental screenshot of that moment, of the sunshine pooling on the table and on them and Sally's laugh and the aroma of the coffee and chocolate swirling through the air and the happiness. She knew she'd need that kind of happiness again someday.

"So," Sally began, appearing to try again with the flowers thing, "I think white lilies might compliment your flat nicely."

"You've never been in my flat!" Molly exclaimed with an incredulous laugh.

"Not yet," Sally said, and Molly's laughter smoothed into a small smile.

"You're right," she murmured, "Not yet."

 

* * *

 

Molly Hooper felt like a stealthy undercover agent. She strode quickly through the barely lit New Scotland Yard- it was early in the morning, and Sally wasn't there yet.

Lestrade was, though.

"Hey, Molly," he said as he spun around after he passed her in a hallway. "What're you doing here? Sally's not in yet."

"I know." She turned a corner but stopped because it looked like she was lost. "Um, where's the staff room?"

Lestrade started to grin. "Oh, you're here because it's Valentine's Day, aren't you? You've brought chocolates or something for Sally."

"You know about-?"

"It was pretty obvious. You two are happy, right?"

"Yeah." Said Molly, cheeks hot and pink with embarrassment.

"Then follow me. The staff room is this way." Lestrade took the lead and walked confidently through the halls. Molly clutched her plastic bag tightly and hurried to catch up.

.

Around lunch time, Sally, feeling pissed, went to the staff room to grab the lunch she had earlier shoved back there; a ham sandwich and a bottle of water. It was what she could put together in the morning.

When she opened the fridge and reached for her bag, she bumped another small box in there that fell to the ground. She swore quietly, but luckily the box stayed closed. Sally knelt down to pick it up, but she froze when she saw the sticky note taped there with the name "Sally Donovan" in a familiar scrawl. There was a cute little heart drawn next to her name, too.

The box contained chocolates. Sally smiled, thinking of Molly coming in early to put these here, bundled up in a coat with a scarf wrapped around her, and she'd pulled it down to breathe and puffs of breath would fog in the cold air. Or maybe she asked someone to do it for her with a shy expression on her face, wringing her hands nervously and keeping her eyes downcast.

Poor Molly needed some confidence, and Sally intended to install some in her, help her build it up so she could walk around proudly without feeling like she was a waste of space or was inconveniencing someone. Sally had heard her talk about the way Sherlock Holmes treated her. She hoped that within the next couple of years Molly would become confident enough to stand up for herself, and the next time Sherlock took her for granted or did something awful she could give him a strong talking to and perhaps slap him around a bit.

As Sally sat down contentedly and thought of Molly, she wondered why Molly would bother to bring chocolates. Sally's eyes glanced briefly on the calendar hanging next to the soda machine and she nearly choked.

It was Valentine's Day, and she had completely forgotten to get Molly anything.

Since there was no time to go get anything, Sally decided to go straight to Molly's flat as soon as she got off work. She could surprise her. It would be lovely.

As soon as she could leave, she hurried out of the building and caught a cab to Molly's. She thought about what she might say, but drew a blank. She'd just have to wing it.

Molly was just unlocking the door when Sally stepped onto the curb.

"Molly," Sally called, trying to get her attention.

Molly dropped her keys, she was so startled. "Sally!" She exclaimed happily. "What are you doing here?"

Sally smiled. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner. For Valentine's Day. I found the chocolates you brought me, they were very good."

Molly's smile wasn't as broad as Sally's, it was more of an upturn of the lips, but Sally could tell she was pleased. "I'd love to go to dinner."

And then she stepped in close and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Sally's lips.

She stepped back again, blushing furiously, face hot and pink and hands fidgeting. "Sorry. I just- I don't know, it was instinctive, I suppose, sorry, I should've asked first-"

"Can I kiss you back?" Sally interrupted.

Molly blinked.

"Can I kiss you back?" Sally asked again.

"Of course you can kiss me back."

So Sally did, entwining her hand in Molly's and pulling her close, kissing deeply and fiercely and then they were backing into the unlocked flat and closing the door, all swept up in a rush of hormones and happiness, shaky fingers unbuttoning shirts and pulling things off and taking skirts and pants down and they lay down on Molly's cute little couch, stopping their kisses only to take a breath.

"I love you," Molly whispered breathily.

"Are you sure?" asked Sally, in a worried murmur. "About me, about this?"

"Yes," Molly said, and her voice was firm and confident, just like Sally had hoped, and her hands were so small and warm, just like the rest of her, and she was all Sally's, and Sally loved her, too.

They was tentative at first as they touched each other, establishing boundaries and good things, and then they became more sure of themselves, angling in towards each other until they were as close as they could be. They were warm and flushed, hands roaming and caressing and doing all sorts of things that made Sally bite her lip and lose herself in happiness. And she wanted Molly to feel the same, so she kissed her thighs, making her way inward, and she kissed Molly's sweet spot in a way that made her arch her back and moan, and she kissed her stomach, she kissed her breasts, she kissed her neck, she kissed her jawline, she kissed those cute little lips she so adored. Sally nibbled at Molly's ear, making her giggle.

Passion quieted after their peak and they ended up just laying together, enjoying each others' body heat and company. They slept, and dreamed of each other, and they were the happiest in that moment than they'd ever been.

(They completely forgot about dinner.)

 


End file.
